Chapter 9 – Katie
Nine
PRESENT DAY
KATIE
According to our family’s legend, my mother wanted to name me Lucille as homage to Lucille Ball on the I Love Lucy show. She’d long been obsessed with that show, and she swore I kicked her belly every time she watched the episodes.
She swore every move was “a sign from above.”
“No other name but Lucy will do,” she’d say, and after my dad watched her stomach shift during a Saturday-night marathon, he agreed.
However, my grandmother (her mother-in-law) despised that name. So much so that she promised to stop dropping by and critiquing her “terrible wife skills” so much if they named me after her instead.
A “Katie” onesie was waiting for me in the delivery room, and they settled on Lucille for my middle name.
On days like today, when I couldn’t seem to avoid a disaster to save my life, I wished they’d gone with her first choice…
“Lady, get the hell out of my cab. Now!” The driver glared at me through the rearview mirror.
“Not yet.” I clung to the door handle. “I am having a severe mental moment.”
“That’s exactly why I want you out.” He pointed out the window. “I’ve had enough of you talking to yourself back there.”
“It’s not my fault my car wouldn’t start this morning,” I said. “It’s only three years old, and—”
“You don’t really drive it anywhere. I know.”
“Then two brides cancelled their upcoming weddings within the same hour this morning.”
“I know that, too.” He groaned. “There’s either something in the water, or some guy named Ashy Rooks is involved.”
“Asher Brooks.” I corrected him. “No one would ever name their child Ashy…I think. Do you think?”
“I think I’m about five seconds from calling the police on you.”
“Okay, I’ll get out if you answer one question.”
“I already have the answer.” He turned around to face me. “Yes. We should bring back asylums, and you should be the first patient.”
“That’s…not my question.”
“It should be.”
“Do you think anyone will notice that I’m so frazzled that I forgot to get out of my pajamas?”
“No.” He shook his head. “A grown-ass woman walking around in a Pokémon onesie won’t be noticeable at all.”
“Okay, great.” I smiled. “Thank you for being honest.”
“Anytime.” He smiled back. “Out.”
I grabbed my binders and pushed the door open.
The moment I stepped out, he sped off without waiting for me to slam it shut.
Shrugging, I walked onto the sidewalk, and within seconds I was met with double takes and weird glances.
So, that cabbie LIED to me?
I rushed down the block to what I hoped would turn my day around. My mom’s shop: Heavenly Gowns & Angel Dresses.
As a former fashion house seamstress, my mother had connections with the best designers, and she could alter anything to make it look exclusive.
I didn’t typically go with my clients when they picked out their dress, and I tried not to push them toward my mother’s shop since it was a conflict of interest, but Michelle was more than worthy of an exception.
I rushed up the steps and pressed the doorbell, waiting for its signature whistling chime.
The door swung open, welcoming me into a world of beautiful marble floors and a long hallway full of white puffy dresses.
“Well, well, well.” My mother pulled me into a hug—then leaned back and blinked. “Katie…why are you dressed like Pikachu?”
“It’s been a long morning.”
“I can see that. We’ll discuss your life choices later.”
“Are you here to finally pick a dress of your own, or is this appointment strictly for Michelle?”
“It’s for me too, Mother,” I said. “Brad finally proposed.”
“Brad?”
“Yes.” I set my things on a table. “Brad.”
“And you actually told him yes?” She glanced at my left hand. “Better yet, where’s the ring?”
“He’s having it resized,” I said. “It’s the exact style that I’ve had in my scrapbook for years.”
“Oh. Well, yay.” She frowned. “Given how long he stretches things out, I assume your wedding will be in ten years.”
“Okay, enough.” I gave up the ruse. “I’m just here to assist Michelle.”
Her face lit up. “Perfect! I’ll go double-check the parlor to make sure everything is perfect.”
She rushed up the grand staircase, and I walked down the hall—running my hand along a collection of feathered dresses.
By the time I’d wandered through the satin and tulle collections, I realized that Michelle still wasn’t here.
None of the bridesmaids are here either…
Confused, I took out my phone and saw that I’d missed three calls and several of her texts.
Michelle
OMG pick up.
So sorry.
Terrible service and traffic :-(
Please don’t let your family hate me…
I immediately called her.
“Oh, thank God!” she answered. “I think I might have to reschedule my appointment at your mom’s shop.”
“You’re still in traffic?”
“Something like that…”
“What about the bridesmaids?” I asked. “Are they with you?”
“Yeah, we all grabbed brunch across the bridge thinking it wouldn’t be a big deal but, there’s no way we can make it there before rush hour.
Please tell your mom I’m sorry, but—” She paused and sucked in a breath.
“You and I wear the same size. You should try the dresses on for me and video-call me with each one!”
“No.” I shook my head. “We can just reschedule your appointment.”
“Oh, come on! It would save me some serious time,” she said. “I can narrow down my options, suggest adjustments, and then when I come in, I’m just picking a wedding, reception, and post-reception dress.”
“You want three custom dresses?”
“I really want five—two as backups, but I’m willing to settle for three.”
“Goodbye, Michelle.”
“Are you staying to try on the dresses for me or not?”
“Let me think about it.” I hung up and swallowed a pent-up scream.
The moment I was done with her wedding, I was instituting an “I refuse to work with family or friends” policy.
I had Michelle on speaker, her voice echoing louder than necessary through the showroom.
“Michelle’s idea is brilliant!” My mother called from upstairs. “Come on up! I’ve got several for you to choose from.”
I obliged and stepped onto a landing full of oversized mirrors and white platforms. Each one was fitted with a mannequin wearing a custom white dress.
My mom pointed to the one at the center—an A-cut with a jeweled bodice that gave way to a feathered train.
“I’ve never seen this one before,” I said. “It’s stunning.”
“I had you in mind when I designed it,” she said. “Want me to put it away so you can try it on later?”
“Ha. Funny.” I plopped onto a pouf chair. “I’ll wait…or pretend I’m waiting,” I muttered. “Where’s Dad?”
“Trying to convince you to buy your mother’s shop, so she can finally retire.” He was suddenly behind me.
I jumped up and hugged him. “Dad…”
“You get six months before you have to come here and let us run the numbers,” he said. “Adding on a wedding dress boutique to your portfolio would help you keep your business at the number one spot.”
“No, getting married and having a beautiful wedding of her own would do that.” My grandmother stepped into the room, looking more like fifty-five than seventy-five. “At the rate you’re going, you’ll end up in your forties with a vibrator and a collection of frozen cucumbers for lovers.”
“Really, Grandma?”
“Just calling it like I see it.”
“I have a boyfriend.”
“My words still stand as they are.” She shrugged.
“Ignore her.” My mom laughed. “Go on in the dressing room and try on a few styles for your friend. It’ll be better for us to weed out the duds this way, anyway…”
* * *
Two Hours and Thirty Dresses Later
I twirled in front of the mirror, making sure to show off every angle to my phone that was propped on a chair, in full view for Michelle and the other bridesmaids to see.
As much as I hated to admit it, the current dress was well worth the wait.
With its lace-trimmed bodice, it hugged my breasts just enough to show a bit of cleavage and then gave way to a flowy tulle skirt that shimmered with every move.
“So?” I looked at Michelle. “What do you think?”
“That’s the one for the wedding.” Tears fell down her cheeks. “That’s it.”
“Excellent choice.” I smiled. “I think it’ll look beautiful on you.”
“Wait a minute,” she said. “You think Chris will like it?”
“Uh, I don’t see why he wouldn’t.”
“I need him to see it to make sure.”
“No, Michelle.” I shook my head. “That’s a major taboo.”
“Well, I need a guy’s point of view.”
“Want me to ask my dad?”
She shot me a “Really?” look.
“I’ll call Asher,” she said. “His place is only a couple blocks away from there.”
WHAT! “I don’t think so.” I glared at her. “Don’t you dare.”
“I’m already calling him!” Her assistant shouted from the back. “Hold on, he’s answering…”
I walked over to the phone and hit the red button, instantly ending the video call.
“Okay, Mom.” I lifted my arms. “Get me out of this dress. Now.”
She pursed her lips and redialed Michelle, betraying me without a second thought.
“Just wait for her guy friend to get here, hun,” she said. “She finally loves something, so it’ll be worth it.”
“It’ll look just as beautiful on the hanger. Trust me.”
She turned to my grandmother and asked about her day. On my phone, the bridesmaids chatted about the ways Michelle should wear her hair.
It was like they were all collectively ignoring me.
After what felt like forever, the shop’s doorbell rang.
I heard Asher introducing himself to my dad, and I made a mental note to re-introduce him as Satan the moment he left.
I turned away from the mirror as his footsteps echoed against the stairs, and I vowed to keep my gaze on the ceiling until he was gone.
“Ahhh, finally!” Michelle screamed. “Asher made it!”
The bridesmaids cheered and sounded like he was some sort of celebrity.
My body tensed as he moved behind me, and I felt my nipples hardening under the lace.
I started counting the cracks in the paint.
“So, Asher?” Michelle asked. “What do you think?”
He didn’t answer.
“Asher? Can you hear me?”
No response.
“Katie, can you hear me? Can you check the speaker?”
I looked down at the worst time.
His eyes stayed glued to my body, unapologetic and completely unbothered by the fact that everyone else in the room still existed.
For several seconds, everything else disappeared.
It was just him and me.
“Michelle is asking about the dress,” I said to him.
“I heard her.” He stepped closer.
“So, your non-answer means you hate it?”
“Not at all.” His eyes were on mine again. “You look good.”
“I’m talking about the dress.”
“It looks good, too.”
“Do you think Chris will like it?” Michelle asked.
“One hundred percent.”
“Perfect!” She squealed. “Tell your mom to save it for me, Katie! I’ll call you back in a few.” She ended the call.
“I’ll handle it now.” My mom rushed downstairs, leaving me all alone with Asher as he continued to stare at me.
“You can leave now, Mr. Brooks.” I stepped off the platform. “You’ve served your purpose.”
“Not quite, Miss Elizabeth…” He leaned forward and gently trailed his finger against the lace bodice. “Are you wearing anything underneath this dress?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I don’t think you are,” he said. “Will custom lingerie go under this?”
“Yes,” I answered. “It’ll be accounted for at the next fitting.”
“Hmmm.” He trailed his right palm against my side, and I sucked in a breath. “I feel like this dress looks similar to something I’ve seen you in before.”
“No.” My breathing slowed as his fingers lingered against the side zipper. “That must be in your head.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “You showed it to me in a hotel room two years ago…you said you’d buy it if your boyfriend proposed.”
“Again, it’s all in your head.” I could barely hear my own voice. “I highly doubt I would ever share something that personal with you—especially if I was dating someone else.”
“You were ‘off’ at the time…” He paused. “You’re off most of the time.”
“You’re making things up.”
“My memory is undefeated,” he said, gently tugging at the zipper. “It was the night you kissed me.”
“Now I know you’re lying,” I said. “Perhaps you’ve been fantasizing about things you’ll never have.”
“Or, things I’d had and wouldn’t mind having more of.”
Silence.
“I don’t like you,” I said. “And I never have.”
“That has nothing to do with this conversation.”
“If we did kiss before, I guess it wasn’t memorable enough to stay in my brain.”
“Allow me to fix that, then.”
His hand slid to my waist, slow—deliberate—like he was giving me time to stop him.
I didn’t.
He pulled me closer, just enough for me to feel the heat of his body through the fabric of the dress.
“You don’t remember?” he murmured.
I should’ve stepped back.
I didn’t.
His mouth brushed mine first—barely there, a warning more than a kiss.
Then he kissed me for real.
And just like that, every rational thought I had disappeared.
He deepened the kiss, one hand threading through my hair, the other tightening at my waist as he pulled me flush against him.
I melted into it before I could stop myself, my hands gripping his jacket as his lips moved against mine like he had all the time in the world.
He broke away just enough to look at me.
“You still don’t remember?” he whispered again.
Then he kissed me harder.
This time, there was no hesitation—no space left between us, no room for logic or restraint.
When he finally pulled away, my breathing was uneven, my thoughts scrambled beyond repair.
“Try not to forget that one,” he said quietly.
Then he stepped back, looked me up and down one last time, and walked away—leaving me completely undone and mad at myself for wanting him to come back.